Of perfect boyfriends and annoying writers
by Jill-in-the-Box
Summary: Five times Tom Demming unknowingly reminded Beckett of Castle... and one time he actually brought it up.


******Disclaimer**: I don't own Castle. The only profit being made is my own amusement (and hopefully yours).

**Five times Tom Demming unknowingly reminded Beckett of Castle (and one time he actually brought it up)**

1.

They're going through the surveillance tapes from the bank, looking for Finch's accomplice. Beckett is aware of Demming's presence next to her, her stomach twisting with a sensation of half-uncomfortable, half-pleasant excitement. She mentally chastises herself for feeling like a giddy schoolgirl around the latest handsome fellow, when his voice interrupts her thoughts.

"You know, if your mouse finger gets tired, we can switch."

She turns to look at him. She's heard enough innuendos from enough men that she has several flirtatious comebacks ready within a second. Her next thought, though, is that there was no way that handsome, sensible, good-boy Tom Demming would make such a salacious remark to get her attention. Right?

With Castle, she muses, there would be no doubt of his intentions: be as provocative as possible, annoy her as much as possible, enjoy her riled-up response as much as possible. But she'd always managed to fire back with equally snappy retorts. She still feels a little thrill of victory imagining the look on his face every time she remembers sauntering away after whispering _You have no idea_. She kind of likes to think it was the first time Richard Castle was one-upped by a woman.

Tom Demming is no Castle. So she smiles at him and says, "That's okay. I think I can handle it."

2.

They go to Remy's the night after she closes the Wolf case. Tom tries to be casual about it_—_Remy's is the place all the cops of the 12th go for drinks after catching a bad guy, after all_—_but it's pretty clear that this is a date.

The last time she was here was with Castle, in the middle of the night after the snakes on a plane case, as he likes to call it, and she still hasn't mapped out where they landed in that gray area between a post-case celebration and a date.

Castle had peeled off half of a straw wrapper, grinned, and blew the other half at her. She'd rolled her eyes as he reached for another one and tore off the paper again.

Then he'd handed it to her.

"I am _not _going to be a five-year-old and litter straw wrapper all over the restaurant," she'd protested.

"I am hurt that you compared me to a five-year-old," he'd pouted. "But that's besides the point. You know you want to," he'd whispered, challenge in his voice, shaking the little plastic tube in her face.

He was right. She did want to be a kid again, at the restaurant with her mom and dad, caring about nothing except who could get the longest distance with their straw wrappers (her parents would always let her win). So she swiped it from him and blew as hard as she could, the wrapper hitting Castle squarely between the eyes. And then she felt it, the start of a laugh for the first time in days, the shaking so hard she couldn't stop, the _plop _of another piece of paper hitting her chin.

"Hey!" she'd cried, glancing up at Castle, who was holding a straw between his pursed lips and watching her with a sparkle in his eye.

By the time the waitress had come to take their order, the straw dispenser was empty. Beckett had been embarrassed, apologizing profusely to the flustered and furious waitress, while Castle had flashed a charming smile and asked to speak to the manager. In the end, their receipt listed _Two hamburgers, One large fries, One strawberry milkshake, One chocolate milkshake, _and _Miscellaneous_. The _Miscellaneous_ was circled, with _One 100-count box of straws, $9.97 _written next to it in red ink in the manager's angry scrawl. Castle had given her the slip of paper as a souvenir. She'd rolled her eyes and made a snarky comment (something along the lines of "you thought I'd need _proof_ of your immaturity when I get it on a daily basis?"), but she'd tucked it into her jacket pocket and when she got home, taped it into the front cover of _Heat Wave_.

Beckett looks at Tom now, who's perusing the Remy's alcoholic beverage menu. She launches a straw wrapper at him.

He looks up, raises an eyebrow, and smiles, but he doesn't reach for the dispenser.

3.

It had been a long day. Beckett had driven all over town interviewing witnesses with her air conditioner broken, chased down three suspects before finally catching their guy, and stayed late to finish paperwork that had been piling up. By the time she's unlocking the door to her place, it's almost midnight.

Tom's waited for her, but his day hasn't been quite as hard. There were no cases for Robbery, he'd told her, so he'd cleaned out his desk and found excuses to go upstairs for coffee half a dozen times ("You weren't there any of those times," he'd explained).

She's at her dresser, taking off her gun and badge, when she feels him step behind her and wrap his strong arms around her waist.

She feels her body tense. Any other night, she would be enthusiastic about the _very _good time to follow. But now, she's just so _tired _and...

"You must be exhausted," Tom whispers in her ear. "We could always just cuddle, okay?"

She closes her eyes and sighs contentedly. She should never have expected less from him. That's Tom_—_considerate, gentle, sweet, someone who settles her and makes her feel safe.

But she can't help but remember speaking those same words in jest, teasing what she thought was Castle's first attempt to fire a gun, only to find out that he'd had her completely fooled. That's Castle_—_challenging, playful, witty, someone who unnerves her but somehow makes her feel alive.

And later, when she's lying in bed with Tom's hand resting over her shoulder, she remembers the flush she felt as her hands rested on Castle's arms and her chest pressed against Castle's back, and she drifts off to sleep with Castle's laugh echoing in her ears.

4.

Tom Demming has the gift of knowing how to say the right thing at exactly the right time.

It had been a bad day. Castle was away on a trip with Alexis. Their newest double-murder case, a couple on their honeymoon, was particularly gruesome and heartbreaking. And she'd blundered on the interrogation by revealing a seemingly unimportant fact that had let their suspect realize the police had very little hard evidence against him. Montgomery had chewed her out for it in front of Esposito and Ryan, who'd shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot and kept their eyes on the ground for several awkward minutes before Montgomery snapped at _them _to go home before _they _ruined the case completely.

When she's finally alone in the bullpen, she sits down at her desk, buries her face in her hands, and actually starts to cry.

She hears footsteps, then feels a gentle tap on her shoulder. She glances up to see a very blurry Tom. "It's nothing," she says, turning her head so that he can't see her blubbering like a _child _who just got in trouble with her parents. "I just screwed up and now I'm being stupid and..."

He shakes his head, perches himself on her desk, holds her chin so that she has no choice but to look at him, and tells her what she needs to hear_—_that it wasn't her fault, that this kind of thing happens to everyone (didn't he ever tell her the story about the time he forgot to read a suspect his rights?), that she's good at her job, that she's the youngest person to make detective in years, that they're going to find something to nail this guy and she'll blow everyone out of the water at the next interrogation, that Montgomery knows how talented she is (and besides, hasn't she heard the rumor that Montgomery once blew an undercover cop's cover?).

She remembers Castle giving her a similar speech on the day Will got shot. But she also remembers other things Castle has done_—_bringing her seven different kinds of takeout, somehow learning her favorite coffee order, staying the night on her couch, offering her his home, sparing her the pep talk and making a joke instead ("because you're _tall_").

Tom reminds her that she's a great detective.

Castle reminds her that she's a great Kate Beckett, too.

5.

One of Tom's buddies from the 54th is getting married, and he's asked her to be his date at the wedding.

She's chosen to wear the blue dress she wore to the _Heat Wave_ release party. She'd spent a good deal of money on it. In fact, she's still not quite sure why sensible, no-nonsense Kate Beckett spent _that _much money on it. Certainly not to impress Richard Castle. Certainly, definitely, absolutely _not_.

When the doorbell rings, she rushes to open the door for Tom and finds him fidgeting with one of the sleeves of his suit. "Are you_—_?"

Whatever he was about to ask is forgotten the moment he looks up and sees her.

He stares at her for a long moment, transfixed, his clear blue eyes seeming a bit out of focus as they sweep from her face to her feet and back again.

She's flattered but not incredibly surprised by his reaction. She knows she's attractive; she'd made good money modeling that summer. And she's seen that same look on many other faces, too, including Castle's. When she'd slipped off her coat to reveal long legs and form-fitting magenta. When she'd arrived at his door in the low-cut, sparkling, tie-in-the-back red gown he'd bought her. And yes, when she'd stood before him in that same blue dress.

But she's also caught Castle staring at her when she's just in her work clothes, no makeup, sitting at her desk and doing paperwork late at night. It's a different kind of stare_—_not so much ogling but more _observing_, and it throws her off balance every time she notices it. She can handle him leering at her body like a hormone-driven teenager, but this watching is more innocent, more understated, and so incredibly unfamiliar.

The word _complicated _comes to mind and she's a little scared to think about what it all might mean.

* * *

1.

"What is it you're looking for, Kate?"

She doesn't answer. She doesn't even look at him. How can she admit to him what she's only just admitted to herself, that she's in love with another man and has taken this long to realize it?

"It's Castle, isn't it?"

She's taken aback, not only by his boldness, but also by the question itself. Did Esposito say something to him? Was it just the rumor mill? Or_—_she was almost afraid to consider_—_was it really that obvious?

He continues, "I thought there was something going on when I first met you. I guess I was right."

She's always prided herself on being honest in relationships, on never being the type who would lead someone on, and now one of the most decent men she knows has made her feel petty and deceitful. "I'm sorry," is all she manages to say.

"Too late for that." It comes out more sharp than anything she's ever heard him say, and she flinches a bit. He notices, because he adds, very gently, "He's a lucky guy, to have someone as smart and beautiful as you." Tom laughs softly after a second's pause, shaking his head. "Sorry. I know it sounds lame. Probably every guy you've met has said that to you."

The first thing that comes to mind is that Tom is wrong; Castle has never called her beautiful.

Smart, yes. Hot, yes. He's even mentioned something about good looks, but only while describing Nikki Heat.

No, Richard Castle has never called her beautiful.

But he's the only man who's ever called her extraordinary.


End file.
